


A Lullaby for Morse

by essexmermaid



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Fred Thursday, Protective Fred Thursday, ThursDAD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-31 06:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21092360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexmermaid/pseuds/essexmermaid
Summary: Morse gets thumped and Thursday comforts him with a lullaby





	A Lullaby for Morse

“Morse!” barked DCI Thursday as his bagman took off running after the burglar. But Morse hadn’t heard him, or wasn’t listening, and never seemed to remember his governor’s warning not to tackle suspects by himself. Thursday set off in pursuit.

Morse had been driving Thursday home when the call came out over the radio of a possible break-in at a local jewellers. They had spun the Jag round and were first at the scene to disturb and then pursue the robber.

As Thursday caught up with them, round the corner into an alleyway, Morse and the suspect were tangled together, scrapping on the pavement like a couple of cartoon cats. Morse was slight but had a surprising wiry strength. Older, heavier and slower than his young Constable, Thursday arrived just too late to prevent the burglar, who was kneeling over him, from landing a punch right between Morse’s eyes. Morse crashed out flat on his back. The assailant looked up into a hammer blow from the avenging fist of Inspector Fred Thursday which knocked him out cold.

“Morse!” urged Thursday in a softer tone this time.

He dropped to his knees beside the young man and scooped up Morse from the pavement with a strong arm about his shoulders. With his free hand, Thursday gently turned Morse’s chin this way and that to assess the damage. Morse, thankfully, was still dazed as Thursday peered into his face. 

Nothing broken, thank God, no cuts to his face, nose in one piece, Thursday decided, highly relieved. 

But there was blood everywhere from Morse’s bloody nose. Knowing how squeamish Morse was about the sight of blood, especially his own, Thursday fished out his handkerchief and attempted to clean up the lad’s face.

“Ooof!” groaned Morse, head swimming, pawing at Thursday’s hand.  
“Hold still, lad,” Thursday said quietly, “nothing broken, bloody nose, that’s all.”  
“Uuuf!” Morse added trying to clear his head still ringing from the blow.  
His senior officer decided to radio for backup.

Thursday wiped away the worst then helped Morse to a sitting position propped against the wall, head between his knees. He stood to check on the burglar and couldn’t resist giving him a vicious poke in the ribs with his toe to ascertain he was still out cold.

Thursday jogged back to the Jag to radio for help. Uniform arrived shortly to handcuff and book the burglar, investigate the jewellers and handle the case.

Thursday helped Morse to his feet. The lad looked a mess, blood smeared all over his face, splattered down his front, hands holding his aching head. Thursday wrapped him in half a bear hug and steered Morse back to the Jag to drive him home.

Back at Morse’s, Thursday had to haul Morse bodily into his flat. Morse was not heavy but difficult to hold up, still groggy from the blow to the head, all elbows and long gangly legs. Thursday dropped his awkward burden onto the sofa and went to fetch something to clean him up.

Thursday found a hand towel which he wet under the tap, and sat beside Morse to wipe the blood from his face. He slipped one big hand behind Morse’s neck and the injured lad closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning back as the big man gently tended to him. Pinching Morse’s nose firmly, Thursday checked again it was not broken while Morse whined softly in his grip.

Then, with an unresisting Morse under his hands, Thursday stripped off the bloody jacket and shirt leaving Morse in his vest. For good measure, so as not to alarm the lad with any further sight of blood, Thursday took off his own coat and jacket to roll up his shirtsleeves to the elbow, hiding Morse’s blood which had seeped onto Thursday’s own shirt cuffs. He fetched them both a glass and poured each a large whiskey which he had to hold to Morse’s lips for the trembling young man to manage to swallow it.

“C’m’ere, lad,” sighed Thursday, sat beside him and reaching one long arm across the top of the sofa for Morse to pillow his head, “been in the wars again, eh?”

Morse leaned back with a grateful sigh and slid down to rest his thumping head on Thursday’s shoulder. His bony shoulder dug into Thursday’s ribs painfully where Thursday had once been shot so he rearranged Morse to lie in his arms across his broad chest. Morse made no objection and made himself comfortable.

Looking down at the pretty young man cradled in his arms, Thursday couldn’t help but smile. Those big blue eyes were half closed, lids fluttering against the pull of sleep, his curved red lips parted with soft breathing. Morse looked so innocent and peaceful for once. Thursday leaned forward and placed a comforting kiss on Morse’s forehead. Those baby blue eyes closed and Morse slipped off to sleep, held safely in Thursday’s arms.

Fred took a deep breath and lay back, pulling Morse in closer. He was reminded of when the kids were little, couldn’t sleep until their daddy held them tight. His little girl, Joanie, had been a daddy’s girl, best of pals and the light of his life until…well…until she’d grown up and they’d fallen out. But Fred remembered the happier times, when he’d loved and been loved without question. He wanted so much to relive those golden days, to make it all right again between them.

Morse stirred in his arms, muttered something while Fred finished the lullaby he hadn’t realised he was humming.

“Brahms,” sighed Morse.  
Fred dropped his chin into his chest and looked down his long nose at Morse.  
“Jewel lullaby,” clarified Morse in a stuffed up nasal voice.  
“S’right,” agreed Fred, “used to sing it to the kiddies when they were small.”  
Morse snuggled further into Fred’s warm belly. He had felt rather then heard the lullaby vibrating through Fred’s deep chest.  
“Mum sang to me sometimes,” he offered drowsily, “when I was little.”  
Fred was surprised at so personal an admission from so private a man. They were both in a contemplative mood.

“I loved putting the kids to bed. Having a few moments with them after a long day. Kept me sane, I reckon,” he rumbled, his deep voice vibrating through Morse’s ear pressed back against Fred’s chest.  
Morse mmm’d in response.  
“When I got back from the war it was hard,” said Fred, trying to explain. “Me and Win hardly knew each other. All those wasted years. Then the baby came along and I knew, I just knew, it was going to be alright.”  
Morse looked up questioningly, his pale face starting to cloud with bruises.

“How did you know?” asked Morse, seeking the secret to a happy life, “that it would be alright, I mean?”  
Fred smiled knowingly.  
“I fell in love,” said Fred simply. “When the baby came, our Joan, I fell in love all over again with Win, with the baby, being a family, with our Sam. With being a father.”   
He sighed longingly. “That’s when I was a good father.”

Morse considered this cry for help for a while, knowing very well that his governor was estranged from his daughter Joan.  
Burrowed against Fred’s belly, Morse offered, “You’re still a good father.”  
“Don’t know about that,” huffed Fred, hurting because he knew he had caused much of the distance between himself and his darling daughter.  
“She wants to see you, you know?” said Morse gently, lifting himself a little to look up into Fred’s face.  
“Eh? Says who?” asked her disbelieving dad.  
“Saw her last week. She wants to make it up with you, she says. But doesn’t know how to start.” Morse explained. 

Fred knew this must be true. Morse would never lie about something so important. And Joan trusted Morse, it seemed they had become close friends.

Fred looked sceptical and leaned back to think. Joan could ring anytime, he thought, before realising this was a conversation they had to have face to face. But she couldn’t come to the station, there was no place to talk while he was at work. Or at home when her mother would be there. No, Fred would have to go to her, to meet her and talk to her himself. And if she’d didn’t want to talk to him, at least he’d tried, and would keep on trying until he could take his little girl in his arms and hold her again.

Fred had much to think about now. He lifted Morse’s weight easily from his lap so the lad had to sit up.

Fred glided his thumb carefully across the bruised cheek.  
“Proper shiner, you’ll have in the morning,” he grumbled, “two mebbe.”  
Morse nodded then lifted his hand to his head which was still pounding.  
“Should look after yourself more, lad. Told you I don’t know how many times to wait for backup, but you won’t wait will you?” Fred chided gently.  
Morse was unfit to answer.  
“Take the day off tomorrow,” Fred continued. “That’s an order. Get some rest. I’ll look in on you at lunchtime.”  
Morse nodded.  
“Come on, let’s get you to bed” he added, heaving Morse from the sofa.

Fred walked an unsteady Morse to the bed, undid his trousers and helped him into a pair of pyjama trousers, before tucking him into bed. Morse was done in, unable to co-ordinate himself properly, helpless as a small child in Fred’s strong arms, trusting Fred to manhandle him safely.

Fred went to fetch his own jacket and coat, and looked in on Morse before he left. Morse already appeared fast asleep as Fred gazed down on him, a mixture of love and protectiveness making Fred’s heart tighten anxiously. He bent quietly and laid a soft kiss on Morse’s bruised cheek.  
“Night, son,” whispered Fred.  
“Night, Dad,” came a sleepy reply.  
Fred smiled down at Morse, wishing he could do more to look after him. 

Then he turned and left the flat, with renewed determination to bring about a reconciliation with his daughter. And a promise to himself to keep a closer eye on his young constable, to try to keep him out of trouble, and persuade him how to look after himself in future. He owed him that much at least.

**Author's Note:**

> Endeavour always runs into trouble, so it’s no surprise is it? Fred’s in a wistful mood and tries to comfort him. I love these two characters, they bring out the best in one another.
> 
> Let me know what you think?


End file.
